


I don’t wanna know I’m wrong for you

by Captaindick



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Stripper/Exotic Dancer, Artist Derek, M/M, Police Officer Stiles, stripper!Stiles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-06
Updated: 2013-06-12
Packaged: 2017-12-14 04:02:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 16,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/832490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Captaindick/pseuds/Captaindick
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek has one beer too many and ends up at a strip club where he sees the most awkward and uncoordinated stripper in the world. And then he finds himself coming back again and again to watch him perform.</p><p>with a surprise at the end of the first chapter. Don't read the tags if you don't want to get spoilered about the second chapter! ;)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there is a twist at the end that I didn't mention in the tags, but the appropriate tags will be added with the second chapter. I just prefer a little mystery and a good cliffhanger, don't you?

Derek is sitting at a bar in a club, trying to tune out the music and glowering at people that start talking to him, water in hand, because he’s driving and because he doesn’t want to get drunk. Lately, if he starts drinking he doesn’t stop until he does something he later regrets, passing out butt-naked on the roof of his garage because he wanted to sleep beneath the stars – the least weird of them all. And he actually left home for the first time in god knows how long, if you didn’t count meeting up with his manager’s assistant to sign a deal or to bring photos of his new creations. Erica insisted that Derek had to go all the way to town to meet Isaac to hand them over instead of just sending an email. This was probably to help Derek adapt, oh poor soul, but Derek was fine with the way things were. He lived alone in a huge house in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by trees and wildlife, his whole house was turned into this big studio where he could start painting and end up carving wooden figures just moving through the rooms.

Erica always says Derek’s lucky she noticed him and forced him to have a photoshoot with his figurines and the accessories he created instead of just making photos of the “pretty junk” as she put it. Derek argues but knows that it’s true. His creations _are_ of worth. He puts his heart and soul into them, but without his “handsome scowly face” (once again, Erica’s words, not his) he wouldn’t get the recognition he got, not so fast. He wouldn’t be able to buy a house and move from the dorms of art school to a place of his own, he wouldn’t be able to afford ignoring people and getting away with it, wouldn’t be able to live alone without his family for so long, seeing parents visiting their children at the dorms, havig his roommate talk about going back for the holidays… What he has is better, his family is better off without him, he just can’t face them after what he did and they’re family, they said a million times that it wasn’t his fault, that he should come back to them, but as years passed even Laura, his persistent nosy older sister, backed off and stopped calling. He still received cards and gifts for Christmas and his birthday, returning the favor himself. But Derek’s peresents stayed unopened in his garage and he couldn’t make himself open them.

After seeing one psychiatrist for two years and going through two in a couple of months, Derek stopped trying to improve. He knew everything they would say, he knew every trick they’d use and he wasn’t going to stop blaming himself.

It’s his mother’s birthday tomorrow, he already sent a package to Beacon Hills, that’s probably the reason he decided it was a good idea to go to town. Alright, if he was completely honest, he’s been in an art block for weeks now, he missed his family, Isaac ended their meeting early today and it would make Derek relieved, usually, but not today. So he had one beer too many and went to a strip club. Not even a regular club, he went to the stupid strip club, with all these half-naked young people and desperate housewives, staring in lust at something they don’t have at home.

After growling at a young boy serving shots and probably scaring the kid for life, Derek asks for water. Again, yeah. The bartender glares at him so Derek reaches for his wallet and pays the cost of a whiskey, repeating his order. The bartender became a lot more friendly after that so Derek made a point of turning to look at the stage closest to him where it seemed a new performer was supposed to walk out from behind the dark velvety curtains to the pole.

The curly-haired drag queen announcing his exit sashayed off the stage, vacating it for “Lance Studhose.” Derek cringed at the made up name but didn’t dare turn around to the bartender, so he kept his eyes on stage where “Lance” stumbled out almost falling over himself, feet tangling. Maybe Lance did have an impressive ‘hose’ but every other part of him was very far away from ‘stud.’ He was wearing a fake police uniform with a huge badge saying ‘Sheriff,’ there was a hat too and a baton on his belt. Maybe Derek was wrong and the uniform hid a muscled body body but the boy looked lean and lanky from where he was sitting. And he looked like a _boy_. He looked like he just turned eighteen and for all that was good Derek hoped he was at least that old.

The crowd seemed to love Lance though, as his stumbling was met with a particularly loud catcall from the front row, a redhead waving money at him already, who knew. The cougars flock around the stage and the men in the club seem to favor Lance too. Maybe they saw something Derek didn’t but this reaction definitely grabbed his attention.

Lance gave the audience an awkward wave and a toothy smile before flinging his hat into the crowd and stepping behind the pole to grind on it. Lance was stripped down to his underwear, belt relooped again after getting rid of the pants, and Derek could say with certainty that Lance was pretty bad at the whole stripping thing. No, Derek wasn’t an old bitter man, sitting too far away from the stripper and envying the ones that got to put their hands on his body in a not so subtle grope or caress, while giving him the money. Lance was just… really bad at it. His moves were jerky, looking more like he was dancing for fun than to entertain, his movements were more dance than seduction, even the stripping looked weird with Lance forgetting he was actually supposed to take the clothes off, remembering mid-move and tugging a piece of clothing in one move, revealing pale skin, made to look even whiter by the lights of the club and the contrast of the curtains at his back. He also didn’t even listen to the music playing, thrusting and stroking himself in a rhythm of his own and giving shoulder pats to people shoving bills into his underwear, who even did that? In other words: Derek was mesmerized.

Yes, the boy didn’t sharpen his skills into something seductive and appropriate for a striptease, but every move he made, every jerky twirl around the pole, every thrust of his hips made out of rhythm, they made him shine from the inside, radiating such incredible energy. Lance, whatever his real name was, was so alive it was impossible not to watch.

But time ran fast and without even taking off his underwear, tight and black and making the bulge in them look like Lance didn’t lie with his name; the stripper gave his audience a wave and hid behind the curtains.

Derek painted that night, for the first time in weeks feeling like he wanted to. He painted Lance, his skin stark white against the maroon curtains, the colorful lights painting his skin. Derek covers it with another layer of paint, erasing the dancing figure. Even if it’s private and it’s not supposed to be for anyone but him, he feels like a creep and a stalker for painting Lance. And, he has to admit at least to himself, the bigger part of him just didn’t feel that it was right, it wasn’t the boy from the club, it was a faded copy and Lance was so alive and so radiant this was not doing him justice. That’s why he needed to get to the club again and watch him perform. For the painting.

***

Derek dreams of Lance, Lance laughing like he did on stage and doing that dancy move where he moved his upper body in a kind of slither, which looked ridiculous, but Lance was doing it on top of him, framing Derek’s thighs with his legs, patting his shoulder like he did to his other patrons and then grinding down on Derek’s dick and leaning down to steal his breath in a kiss.

Derek decided that the dream shouldn’t distract him from his original goal, and that goal was art. Art. He just needed to see Lance’s performance because he wanted to create something beautiful and inspiring. The dream didn’t even mean anything except for the fact that Derek wasn’t getting laid and was sexually frustrated.

Derek has two beers and spends almost two hours sitting at a table at the back of the club waiting for Lance to go on stage. Well, apparently stripping isn’t his only job, because he isn’t there and after getting hit on by way too many people Derek just gets up and walks away, feeling stupid and angry all the ride home.

The official site doesn’t have any information about their performers, or Derek didn’t look thorough enough, but it makes sense, they wouldn’t want their business going down because everyone would want to see just that one stripper they liked and came only when he did. So Derek just needs to come over again. Because he’s not a creep.

One more day of ruined canvas and an especially drunk cougar trying to shower Derek in money so he would give her a private dance, and Derek got his reward. He moves a bit closer to the stage, to one of the big couches with the soft cushions, the ‘lap dance’ ones, but it’s far enough so he can just watch, without drawing any attention. He gets more detail though, able to see Lance’s face better, the plush lips, his mouth hanging permanently open, the turned up nose, the thick lashes, or maybe it’s makeup but Derek doesn’t really care, even if it is it works for Lance. Apparently Lance’s style and his moles, scattered across his skin, work not only for Derek, because the crowd around the stage is maybe even bigger than last time. It’s when Lance’s hand gets tangled in the sleeve of his builder’s (?) unform and he makes a throaty laugh, smiling with all his being, that their eyes meet. Across a crowded room. And Derek can’t breathe like in the worst cliché ever.

Derek is the one to break eye-contact, scowling and stalking away, not staying to watch Lance finish his dance. It’s a good thing he left too, he found a wounded raccoon inside his garage, probably got into a territorial dispute or some wild dog did it. The animal won’t let Derek touch it but does curl into a ball in a cloth Derek brought. He wonders if he should call a veterinarian and decides that if the raccoon is still there tomorrow, he’ll do it. Derek leaves some food and milk for the animal and leaves it to lick at its wounds.

Later that night Derek tries to sketch Lance but his face is slipping away, his features so clear before, not assembling any more. Derek leaves the ruined paper in a heap on the floor and tries to sleep and think of something else, anything else. Erica called him about that wooden bear getting sold, they were supposed to meet this week. He wonders if she’ll bring Isaac, the kid looks like he’s scared of Derek the best half of the time they’re in one space together. Derek has a suspicion that Erica had a hand in that: she loves telling people stories of how scary and growly Derek is.

Before sleep claims him Derek thinks of Lance and dreams of him again, smiling at him from the stage, no people in the club, just them. Derek is walking up to him, Lance slipping down from the runway, tripping a bit and sitting on it, moving his legs apart for Derek, wrapping his arms around him, pulling him in…

Derek is jerked awake by his phone ringing. This doesn’t really happen that often so when he growls “What, Erica?!” he expects Erica, not a stammering Isaac. Well, great, he totally added up to the scary stories Erica told the boy. They arrange to meet up today, the three of them. But the meeting isn’t due till five in the evening so Isaac really could’ve chosen a better time to call then ten in the morning. Derek was an artist for christ’s sake! Everyone knew his kind didn’t function until midday at least.

Derek jerks off in the shower trying not to think of Lance and thinking exactly about him, thinking of an ending to his dream.

When Derek checks on the racoon it is absent, as is the food and the cloth. It’s good it healed.

***

Erica is a professional and she’s all business when they seal the deal, but the moment Isaac hides the papers and she flexes her fingers, Derek knows it’s trouble.

“We should go clubbing.” Is what she chirps cheerfully, her grin wolfish.

“No.”

“Aww. But how am I supposed to prove to Isaac you’ve got a softer side?” the curly-haired assistant looks positively horrified.

“Not by going to a _club_.” This earns Derek a squeal from Erica as she claps her hands.

“Where are we going then?”

“Not- not today, ok? I’ve got a thing I need to do. Call me tomorrow and we’ll decide.”

Erica squints at him, lips pursed, but she gives in with a sigh.

“As much as I don’t believe in your “thing” that needs to be done. Today. I can respect your social anxiety. See, I’m awesome.” Derek just scowls. “But we’re deciding _now_.”

After spending another half an hour with Erica and Isaac (he realized he doesn’t know Isaac’s last name, could he be Erica’s brother?), deciding to start with an art gallery downtown and going from there, Derek just doesn’t see the sense in returning home. The club should be open already, even if it wouldn’t be as busy as at night. And Derek did say he had a “thing.”

Derek spends four hours at the bar, it’s another bartender’s shift today so he doesn’t get hit on and anyway he’s drinking so the bartender, a tall black guy, doesn’t have anything to complain about. And then, four hours later, Derek tells himself it’s not too long and to prove Erica wrong and… he really wants to see Lance dance. Either his thoughts materialized or he really waited long enough, because Lance is on stage, the runway on the other side of the club occupied by another guy, moving a lot less spastic and natural, the way a stripper should move. Derek isn’t sure if he’s acting smart or childish, but he walks over to that side of the club, to the guy he doesn’t even care looking at, desperately trying not to look at Lance fumbling and winking at his audience. He doesn’t want to seem like he’s a stalker.

The moment the Guy stops dancing Derek is out of the club, calling a taxi, way too drunk to drive. He got a glimpse of Lance stroking slowly down his torso and even if he’d love to stay, he… he really didn’t know why he acted like such an idiot.

***

The art block is gone, the angst with it, Derek goes out with Erica and Isaac, spends his time at home between work and working out, goes for long runs in the forest surrounding his house, goes grocery shopping instead of ordering the food online. The injured racoon becomes Derek’s frequent visitor and even if it’s a pest Derek can’t help but leave food for it.

Derek swears off the club and Lance. He makes it for almost a week, his sketches all looking way too much like Lance and his toned lean figure, before he gives in and is back at the club.

Derek decided that he’s a grown-ass man and he can make any decisions he wants. Decisions being him sitting closer to the stage now. He can always tell himself it’s for the sake of art and it’s not like he’s paying for sex, he’s not desperate. He’s not even paying for lap dances. He just wants to relax for a bit and if relaxing means watching a barely legal kid with a fake name strip ungracefully in front of him, so be it. Derek wants to facepalm at his own inner thoughts and hopes there are no telepaths in here.

Lance’s performance is not even twenty minutes after Derek settles at his table. He’s going to count it as proof that he totally deserves it. Lance’s eyes don’t even wander before meeting Derek’s. He smiles at him as he unzips his leather jacket to reveal a dirty wifebeater hugging him in all the right places. Whenever Derek lifted his eyes from the jerky dance moves he learned to adore, Lance’s eyes would be on him. He would wave at his crowd and smile at them but it was as if he was boring holes into Derek. His expression wasn’t the usual happy one with a big smile and crinkles in his eyes, this gaze was heated and determined. Considering Derek’s face was stuck in a permanent scowl with variations of angry and annoyed, he was surprised Lance even looked at him, doesn’t understand how he didn’t freak out and run off stage away from Derek already.

Lance gives him a wink over the shoulder and Derek watches his ass all the way until he disappears behind the damn maroon curtains. Derek runs.

He’s there again the next day, hoping and dreading seeing Lance. It takes him a half hour wait for Lance to come on stage, announced by the same drag queen as always, new wig, black long hair this time, Derek thinks it suits her better.

Derek doesn’t even knows how this happened but he’s in front of the stage, front row, best seats. And Lance is rocking his hips out of rhythm with the music, his own sound in his head, smirking down at Derek. Derek is stiff as the freaking pole Lance is wrapped around, actually, that was a horrible thought, he can’t stop picturing Lance using him as a pole now, grinding on him and arching his back as he slides… fuck.

Derek doesn’t really have small money so he starts hading out twenties (the cost for a lap dance, as the official site said), just giving Lance another one when he goes on all fours in front of Derek, stopping him from doing it. He _will not_ survive a lap dance. The way Derek hands over the money is as ridiculous as it gets, he doesn’t even try getting a grope, he just waits till Lance leans over, bends over or crawls towards him and takes the money, brushing his fingers as he does.

That night Derek is too flustered and too drunk to go straight home so he hides in the bar’s dark corner, sipping on his water with ice and a lemon. He thinks he started hallucinating when he sees Lance walking up to him, wearing his normal clothes which definitely shouldn’t be classified as such, because the red shirt just could be painted on, as well as his dark blue jeans. Derek is startled into scowling, his face doing that thing when he’s too freaked out to search for another reaction and it goes for default mode.

“Oh, man. Those were some amazing tips, I totally owe you a drink now.”

“No.” fuck fuck fuck, he’s screwing himself over, what the hell. He should smile, he needs to smile. Derek forces a smile on his face and between the furrowed brows and the pained expression of a forced smile he looks like some serial killer. Great way to go. Lance laughs though, one of his throaty full-body laughs and pats Derek on the shoulder.

“Something to eat then? I feel like I owe you. Big time.”

“You… really don’t. I’m just a customer. I liked the show.” Lance looks at him, calculating, lips pursed and, damn, Derek can’t help but look at them. Obviously, Lance had to notice it and then he’s grinning and licking his lips and Derek flushes the way he didn’t since grade school.

“What if I give you my number and real name? Still care for staying my customer? So, should I...”

Lance can’t help laughing at Derek’s deer caught in the light expression but Derek doesn’t blame him. The only concern Derek has is for his tongue to untie and say ‘YES.’ He ends up nodding, face reverting to the scowl (tm). Lance, or not Lance, soon he’ll know his actual name, just smiles at him and reaches behind the counter of the bar, fetching a napkin and a pen, fumbling and squirming and making Derek breathless,

Derek doesn’t look at the paper until not Lance is out of view, waving at him one last time and blowing a kiss. Now that he can’t further embarrass himself, Derek fumbles to open the folded by not Lance’s restless fingers, napkin and reads:

_Stiles_

He thinks he likes it. Doesn’t sound less fake but a lot better than Lance.

***

Derek doesn’t show up at the club and doesn’t text or call for three days. But then he reasons with himself that Stiles doesn’t have _his_ number and the only way for them to meet again is for Derek to call. He forces himself to write a text, a simple “ _Hi, it’s the guy from the club. Derek._ ” and then goes for a run.

When he comes back, pointedly ignoring the phone, lying on the table, waiting for him, he goes for a shower first and only after that checks if Stiles answered. There are two missed calls and three texts. All of them from Stiles. Derek’s phone’s never been so overflown. Not in ages.

The texts read:

**hi! thought u bailed on me**

**we should totes meet up smwhere that isnt the club nxt time**

**no pressure**

That’s how Derek finds himself in town, in front of the main entrance to the park, looking ridiculous beside the little donut truck in a leather jacket and dark colors. He just didn’t have anything else to wear, he went through his wardrobe – the colorful stuff was all in the laundry. He really needed to do laundry, and maybe clean up at his house so when Stiles would visit… getting ahead of yourself there, Derek, he scolded himself and just shuffled in place, hands crossed over his chest.

It wasn’t long till Stiles appeared, a smile tugging at his lips, waving over exaggeratedly like he’s actually happy to see Derek waiting there for him. Stiles looks just as radiant and sinful in his regular clothes as he does on stage. He’s wearing a red leather jacket but the rest of the clothes hug his body and leave little to the imagination and Derek can’t believe this amazing person willingly went out of his way to meet with him. The young man gives him a full-body hug and Derek freezes in place instead of answering it and maybe hugging back, but even Erica doesn’t let herself do it, he forgot what it’s like to get hugged like that. Stiles is a bit taller than Derek and he looked tall in the club, but now that they’re both on the same level, both of them standing, it comes as a bit of a surprise. While Derek tried to work through his stupor Stiles already moved away, apologizing, saying he’s a very tactile person and he’ll try not to do it again. And instead of telling him that it’s ok and Derek wouldn’t mind at all, he just grunts in response. Great communication skills there, Mr Hale, teases a voice inside his head that sounds too much like Erica. Maybe if he took her with them she would point out to Stiles that that’s just the way Derek was, not because he was unhappy or angry with Stiles. But then maybe Stiles would like her more and they would just spend the day talking and making jokes at Derek’s expence, so it was a no to anyone but them. Just he and Stiles.

Derek turns around and makes his way into the park, not waiting for Stiles, he’ll catch up.

“Not big on talking, huh? That’s actually really good, because I’m a chatterbox. The only people who can tolerate me stayed at home and here everyone at the job is like ‘shut up, Stiles.’ so you’re literally the best right now.”

Derek’s mouth thins into a line to prevent him from smiling. That’s nothing to smile over. Derek turns to look at Stiles’ expectant eyes, they’re of an amazing auburn color and, crap, Derek’s lost in them, like a freaking thirteen year old girl.

“Are you legal?” wow, smooth there, Hale. Very smooth. Derek wants to run. He’s not good with people, that’s one of the reasons he’s not talking to them, ok? He wouldn’t be surprised if Stiles just left now, he wouldn’t blame him. Stiles laughs. He actually laughs, hand braced on Derek’s shoulder while he bends in half, catching his breath between bursts of laughter.

“Oh my god, you are _not_ the first person to ask that.” He wipes the tears out of the corners of his eyes, letting go of Derek’s shoulder and he already misses the contact. “I’m over twenty one, man.” Stiles wiggles his eyebrows at Derek at that and Derek frowns at him. He’s not sure Stiles isn’t lying but he doesn’t want to call him out on it, it’s not his place and if Stiles doesn’t want to talk about it that’s fine.

Stiles visibly deflates after that, but just for a second, and then he’s talking again, talking about everything, starting with the best cafés in this town and then getting distracted by a dog and telling a story about his father never buying one until Stiles left and his old man felt lonely and got himself a stray from the dog shelter and about how unfair it was and… Stiles talks. He talks leaving Derek to decide if he wants to comment on something or not, letting him choose if he wants to share any information of his own. Derek never felt so good in a very long time.

After telling everything about his high-school friends that he somehow still keeps in touch with, after talking about how stripping helps him through college, after stories of how his niece is the cutest thing on earth, Stiles and Derek sitting on an open veranda of a café, waiting for their order, Stiles makes a flailing motion and bugs his eyes out in a comical expression.

“Dude, you should’ve shut me up. It wouldn’t be rude, seriously. When I start talking I can’t stop, I _need_ someone to do it for me.”

“It’s fine.” Is Derek’s only reply, you’d think he could relax a bit more…

“Not fine. Come on, tell me what you’re doing for a living. I won’t interrupt.” The young man mimics zipping his mouth shut. Then he flails a bit and unzips it. “You’re not a stripper too, right, out there to steal my job? Because with that body… ok, shutting up now.”

Stiles zips his mouth again and sits back, looking expectantly. Derek furrows his brow, thinking how to answer that without sounding too lame, but probably just looks grim because of that.

“I’m an artist. I don’t… strip.”

“Too bad.” Is Stiles’ reply and Derek desperately tries not to blush, unsuccessfully.

Their order comes around and Stiles, sensing Derek’s discomfort, mostly talks through their meal. When he tries to pay for himself Derek tells him it’s not necessary and that Derek makes enough money to pay for both of them, thank you. Driving back home he thinks of how every tiny thing he did say today made him sound like a douche. Great. Just perfect.

His phone lights up with a message that evening:

**today was pretty cool. when r u free again? you should show me ur works one day ( ˘ ³˘)♥**

This must be some kind of joke but he’s willing to fall for it. Feeling like an idiot Derek writes ‘the day after tomorrow.’ Because he doesn’t want to seem over-eager and make Stiles think he doesn’t really work. He gets a reply almost instantly.

**\\( ﾟヮﾟ)/**

***

Next time they meet up Derek tries to be more civil and even sits through Stiles aw-ing and wow-ing at his works as he looks through Derek’s site on his phone. Derek is watching Stiles’ expressive face al that time, watches him pucker up his lips and stretch them into blinding smiles, watches his dark lashes flutter against his cheeks, tries to remember every way his hair is messed up to go home and paint it just right. When Stiles notices him staring he doesn’t even say anything and doesn’t call Derek out on the act, giving him a coy smile and looking back to the almost loaded page.

After this they agree to meet again and Derek is on his way when he gets a text message.

**dude I can’t make it (ノ ゜Д゜)ノ ︵ ┻━┻**

Derek congratulates himself on not hitting the breaks or driving his camaro into a tree. He sets the phone on the passenger’s seat and slows to a stop on the side of the road. It doesn’t mean anything, Stiles is probably really busy with something. It’s not because he realized how boring Derek is and understood what a big mistake he made by giving him his phone number. His phone buzzes again and Derek won’t admit the rush with which he grabbed it even to himself. It’s another text from Stiles and he’s prepared for a rejection.

**do you mind driving to the club? I have like to work on a dance and stuff ;)**

This… doesn’t look like a rejection. At all. Derek writes back an ‘ok’ and forces himself to stop smiling all the way to the strip club. It’s still closed at this hour and there isn’t even a security guard outside so Derek calls Stiles and the young man tells him to stay right where he is and doesn’t stop talking until he’s opening the door and ushering Derek in, only then ending the call.

He’s not wearing a costume like on stage, but he’s also not wearing anything but a pair of shorts that, like all of his clothes, fit him like a glove.

“Boss wanted me to do this dance like really soon so he told me to hurry up. You don’t mind, right?”

Derek, walking behind unable to tear his eyes away from Stiles’ back and ass, just grunts, lifting his eyes to Stiles’ face as he turns around giving him one of his breathtaking smiles.

“I think B-Barry can get you something to drink while I practice?” Barry, the good un-flirty bartender gives him a nod. “Or you’d rather sit closer?”

Stiles gives him a wink and Derek’s feet bring him to Stiles, who leads him to a stage closest to the bar. Stiles walks over to an iPod and switches it on. There’s a song playing from the middle and Stiles doesn’t seem to mind, just walking back over to the stage and standing in front of it, in front of Derek.

“It’s on shuffle, I like it more like that. That cool with you?” he’s taking a chair off the table putting it on the floor for Derek to sit on it.

“Yeah.” Derek can’t help a little chuckle, thinking of Stiles dancing on stage and now his out of rhythm movements start making sense, if he’s changing them in his head every minute.

Stiles squints at him but doesn’t say anything, waiting for Derek to relax in his chair and then the song changes and Stiles is grinning again, making a weird face, almost as if he was roaring and then he’s right in front of Derek, standing over him, legs on both sides of Derek, as he mouths to the lyrics and makes these whole body thrusts, too fast to be stripping and too jerky to be a dance but they make Derek’s face color and mouth water.

Derek realizes belatedly that his hands moved without his own accord and were resting on Stiles’ hips. The moment he does notice it, he flinches back but Stiles catches him by the wrists and places the hands back on his body, thrusts slowing down and his own hands falling to Derek’s shoulders. Derek is frozen in place, not daring to move as Stiles moves even lower, straddling his hips now and Derek’s already half hard. Stiles wraps his arms around Derek’s neck and, fuck, oh god, is he going to-, he’s going to kiss him! Derek sees Stiles’ eyes fluttering shut and his hands tighten around the young man’s frame when there’s a loud cough from the bar.

Stiles is up in a blink of an eye, tripping and almost falling, the stage the only thing that kept him upright. Stiles is impossibly red, mouth agape as he catches his breath. Derek knows he doesn’t look any better. Maybe this bartender isn’t the best one in the end.

“Well I guess the dance is a success then.” Stiles lets out a nervous chuckle and scratches the back of his head.

“It is.” Stiles smiles at him, the blush not subsiding a bit. Maybe that’s why Derek blurts what he has in mind, because Stiles was so cute and embarrassed and he wanted to reassure him. “After a dance like that the only thing I could do is take you home. Where we wouldn’t get interrupted.”

Stiles’ mouth is agape and Derek needs to stay quiet for the rest of his life or die right now to get himself out of embarrassing himself even further.

“Ok.” Stiles is looking straight at him when Derek lifts his eyes, dead serious. “Ok, let’s- let’s go. Barry,” he turns to the bartender. “Could you tell the-”

Barry nods and Derek’s mouth is dry and he’s once again frozen in place. Oh god, Stiles _can’t_ go to his place. Not now, not today. He hasn’t cleaned up in weeks, there are piles of dirty laundry in every room, the sheets on his bed have to be changed, the art supplies and wood chips are everywhere…

“No.” Stiles turns to look at him from where he was unplugging his iPod. “Some day later, maybe. I’ll call you.”

It’s awkward after this as Stiles takes him back to the door, not saying a word except for “Bye” and squeezing Derek’s arm. But it’s not like Derek can just tell him that his house is a mess and that’s the reason he won’t take him there.

***

Cleaning takes three days in total and it’s if you ignore the fact that Derek practically used one room to stash things he still might need but that looked like junk, and, yeah, actual junk too. He doesn’t know if it’s even polite to call Stiles now so he makes a stupid decision. If Stiles rejects him he at least wants to see him before that and not get a text with a ridiculous smiley.

He drives to the club and thank god it’s the flirty bartender, Derek has a feeling Barry doesn’t like him. Well, it was mutual. Stiles is up on stage soon enough and he’s searching the crowd with his eyes until he finds Derek, his face unguarded and indecisive. That’s why Derek tries to give him the best smile he can manage and Stiles seems to see it, smiling himself. After this the performance goes as usual, with smiles and winks and ridiculous movements, and whenever Stiles’ eyes meet Derek’s Derek can’t help the warm feeling inside.

The moment Stiles leaves the stage Derek is out: the bartender was getting handsy and too annoying. Derek sends Stiles a text, saying he’ll be waiting outside, a block away, where he parked his car. He’s leaning on the camaro when he sees Stiles sprinting over, wearing a cap and a big hoodie, bag hanging over his shoulder. Derek lifts his eyebrows in question and Stiles waves at him to open the door.

“Man, you have no idea what it’s like to be a popular stripper!” he grumbles as he settles inside, sliding the bag off and taking off his cap.

“I don’t.” Derek chuckles, closing the door behind Stiles and getting to the other side of the car. Stiles is oddly quiet, trying to talk like he usually does but the tension is definitely there. Derek lets himself hope it means Stiles is just as nervous as he is. It gives him a chance to worry even more though and he definitely should’ve shaved his chest. Stiles did go willingly, right? It wasn’t like… an addition to his job to do such things, right? Oh god, Derek was screwed.

He switched on the radio to try and tune out his thoughts and Stiles gave him a sympathetic smile, hand patting his thigh and staying there. Ok, maybe he was worried for nothing. Stiles marvels at his house and how quiet and nice it is there, out in the nature and Derek can’t help but agree. This was the reason he had a house built here.

“You can get comfortable and I… cooked something, I just need to heat it up. You drink wine? Or beer? Or-”

“Water’s good. For now. Where’s the toilet, man? I really need to pee.”

Derek directed Stiles and Stiles promised not to get lost on his way. He was serving the table, checking in on the food, yes Derek was a good cook, he just didn’t really care to cook for himself so the food was a treat for the both of them. Cooking was art too, of sorts. Derek weighted the wine bottle and the beer in his hands, trying to pick what to serve when he felt something cold and metal pressing to the back of his head.

“Put down the bottles, slowly, and put your hands behind your head.” Stiles was talking after that but it all became a blur in Derek’s head. Not again. Not again, god, please, not again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title is from Lana Del Rey's "Put the Radio On"  
> Stiles' stripper name is a combination of two names from this site: http://thejuicyj.com/strippername/  
> Second chapter is Stiles' POV


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles' POV. Secrets are revealed and someone screwed up big time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the cliffhanger and not updating for so long! posting it the moment I finished so there might be mistakes. You can point them out to me if some are especially cringe-worthy :)

Stiles was in a strip club. And he wasn’t sitting at a table, close to the stage, waiting to waste his money on paying for lap dances, he wasn’t at the bar, getting wasted, he was on a freakin’ stage, getting out of uncomfortable clothes that were two sizes too small, holding on to the pole for dear life so he wouldn’t fall. How did he end up here? Well, he’s blaming Lydia.

Maybe he should blame himself for agreeing, but standing here, no, _dancing_ here, he’s blaming Lydia. And she’s in the front row too, wolf-whistling and clapping her hands when Stiles takes off yet another piece of clothing.

A few weeks ago they had an emergency meeting with the head of their department, saying that they had an idea how to lure the serial killer in. Oh yeah, Stiles _had_ an excuse for being a horrible stripper, it wasn’t what he did for a living, ok. It wasn’t even part time. He was a cop and he was undercover. Didn’t make him feel better about the inhuman difficulty of dancing. The killer targeted guys that looked pretty much like Stiles, so out of his team, Boyd and Lydia didn’t fit. It left Stiles to learn how to pole-dance from a teacher who would yell at him and grope him, to shave and wax his _entire_ body, to perform in front of a crowd that would touch him allover whenever they could. At least Stiles made a deal not to take off his underwear, now Stiles was starting to think that it was Lydia who made him believe that it even counted as a victory.

Also the other strippers hate him, the owner of the place is the only one who knows about the undercover operation so the other strippers are bewildered and mad that a guy with Stiles’ skills was allowed to dance with them and steal their customers. At least the drag queens love him.

He doesn’t have to do it every day, it would look suspicious and Stiles would die, of embarrassment and because stripping was tiresome, ok? Boyd is working at the club too, he’s a bartender on days Stiles isn’t there to keep an eye on the crowd in case there’s anyone suspicious. Lydia just goes with them sometimes but she spends most of the time in the offices, trying to figure out where the murders are being executed. Because so far they’ve got four dismembered bodies and no clues except for all the boys being strippers. But even here they are at a dead end – the victims never knew each other and the clubs they were taken from didn’t really show any pattern. So Stiles humiliating himself like this could’ve been in vain while the killer would just track his target at another club. But it also could save someone’s life, so Stiles got on stage and danced, trying to figure out if any of his customers was the serial killer.

They didn’t get any leads for almost a week now since Stiles and Boyd started working at the club, until a stripper, Jeremy McAbe “Tex Slick,” seriously, these names were ridiculous, they all sounded like the one Stiles gave himself from a site that generated you a stripper name after an argument with Boyd and Lydia about him not using Styles; has gone missing and they finally had some clues to the case. Jeremy was seen with a guy, tall dark and handsome being the only description, but Boyd and Stiles both just had to look at each other to get to the same conclusion: the guy from the club. The one with the artistic stubble and always wearing something dark, they already thought he might’ve been their guy, Boyd even called Stiles on his personal time when they guy seemed to be waiting for him for three hours. It took Stiles one more to get there but the guy didn’t even glance at him. He went straight for Jeremy.

But the guy is nowhere to be seen after that day and then two days later a mutilated body is found. They don’t even need the forensics team to confirm who the body belongs to, Jeremy McAbe.

Their guy doesn’t show up for another three days and then he’s abandoning his usual spot at the bar and Stiles has to ask the owner to let him be the next one on the small stage, earning a death glare from Larry “Brutus the Dominator,” pfft. They lock eyes and Stiles _knows_ he’s his next target. He makes a point out of looking at him, captivating his attention and mostly ignoring everyone else as much as he could. Maybe this was too obvious, but Stiles really couldn’t care less. Later Boyd tells him how their guy practically ran out of the club after Stiles left the stage. Boyd and Lydia were both set on this being a good sign but Stiles wasn’t so sure.

Lydia is with him in the changing room when they both get a text from Boyd:

**he’s here**

Stiles has to wait for “Dick Humperhorn” Max Babbs, the dude is a real dick so his name fits even if it is as ridiculous as Stiles’; to leave the stage and then his guy is not just there, he’s in the damn front row, looking as gloomy as always but Stiles thinks he sees why the victims could’ve fallen for him. He’s fucking gorgeous up close, with the stubble and the muscles and the whole gloomy thing that’s actually working for him.

Stiles never does lap dances but if it really is him he has to get the guy to choose him so he starts crawling down, but the guy silently pretty much begs him with his eyebrows alone, and another twenty dollar bill, not to. This behavior might fit – their murderer didn’t rape the victims, he killed them without touching them in a sexual way, before or after. Lydia said he probably killed them because they were ‘unclean’ and coming on to him like ‘sluts.’ Well Stiles thinks he did a great job of disgusting mister eyebrows with his advances.

With his underwear stuffed with money he doesn’t even really has a right to, because it’s evidence, Stiles hurries to get dressed into an outfit that Lydia got ready for him for exactly this occasion. The clothes are only relatively more comfortable than the ones Stiles was wearing minutes ago, and by relatively he means not one bit. They’re sticking to his skin and he’d never wear such clothes if he wasn’t a dedicated cop that was demanding a raise after this.

All the strippers just stare at him with varying degrees of hate and disapproval as Stiles rushes out before their guy leaves. Boyd is at the bar, subtly waving him over and pointing to the end of the bar where their guy isn’t even thinking of leaving. Stiles sways his hips like he was taught by the drag queens, walking over to the guy who isn’t even looking at him.

The conversation isn’t going well at all. Their guy is like a stoic brick wall and getting words out of him is as hard as it would be from the said wall. He rejects Stiles’ offer to buy him a drink in return for the generous tips and is playing hard to get but when was a Stilinski known for giving up?

“What if I give you my number and real name? Still care for staying my customer? So, should I…”

And that’s a win. Score, muthafuckas! It takes a lot of restraint not to start with the victory dance right on the spot, partially because Stiles isn’t dancing in a long long while after this is over. Stiles leaves with a wave over his shoulder and blows a kiss. The moment he’s hidden by the door to the backstage, he’s cornered by Lydia.

“So?”

“Umm… he isn’t really chatty, Lyds, so I didn’t get much.”

“A name at least? Something to work with?” Stiles can’t suppress a nervous giggle and Lydia groans. “…yeah I know, right?” Lydia giggles, leaning into Stiles and he thinks she’s gone mad until he sees a coworker from the club walking past them and smiles back at her as if they just shared a joke. But the moment they’re alone again the hand on his upper arm turns into a vice grip and Lydia is back up in his face.

“And what are we supposed to do, Stiles? What if he won’t go after you and already has another target?”

“I gave him my phone number…” Stiles mumbles uncertainly. Lydia huffs and flips her strawberry blonde locks back with a hand, releasing Stiles.

“Alright, what name did you use?” The silence coming from Stiles is an answer in itself. “You gave him-” she’s screaming but she stops herself and is whispering instead: “You gave him your _real_ name?!”

“Not my _real_ name.” Stiles makes finger quotes for the ‘real.’ “But it’s not like-”

“Oh god, Stiles, if we lose him because of you…”

Stiles swears they won’t and gets a scolding from Boyd too later that day. It’s later at night when Stiles gets paranoid and worries until it’s bright outside and he has to go to the office. Their guy still hasn’t called him.

The footage from the club’s cameras never catches his face so they don’t have anything to work with. Everyone at the office, including Stiles himself, is blaming him for the guy’s disappearance. The theories are: he came on too strong, he didn’t come on strong enough, he was supposed to give him a lap dance, he was supposed to get him to say his name, he was supposed to. He was. And he didn’t. He screwed up and the next corpse would be on his conscience.

Lydia and Boyd go soft on him now that everyone’s judging Stiles but he knows that everyone’s right, and Lydia and Boyd were the first to tell him he screwed up anyway. Stiles doesn’t even call Scott, as he’d usually do if he was feeling down. He doesn’t want Scott to be disappointed in him too.

It’s three days after the last time they saw him that Stiles gets a text.

His phone gets wired and they get a bunch of psychologists to look at the text and analyze it. In the end Stiles goes with Lydia’s advice, because she has a degree in psychology and always has been smarter than any of the guys they hired to help anyway. Stiles calls two times but Derek doesn’t pick up. Then they compose a few texts with Lydia, she tells him that more than one is good, because it’s annoying and wow, Stiles always sends more than one, his thinking process just works another way, always something to add. They also use half-assed spelling so he’d look like he’s young and dumb, Stiles always used such spelling so he was starting to get pretty insulted here. In the end they come up with:

**hi! thought u bailed on me**

**we should totes meet up smwhere that isnt the club nxt time**

**no pressure**

They get an ‘ok. where?’ in reply and wow, does the guy ever talk with more than one word sentences? The psychological profile fits so far, the dude’s totally a sociopath, even Stiles can tell. Now they just need him to have a house somewhere far from populated places and they have a match for the serial killer.

They picked a public place for them to go to where they could be followed and monitored without suspicion, Stiles was made to wear clothes that were even worse than the last ones but at least now he had a jacket on, leather and red, god, this was all like a big joke on him; for the equipment to listen in on them talking.

At least Derek looked as uncomfortable as Stiles felt, though the black leather jacket did look amazing on him. Stiles backtracked his thoughts and made himself stop. He so wasn’t going to think a serial killer was hot, goddamit.

Stiles hugged him in greeting, being obnoxious and invasive, just the things their killer hated, faking concern and apologizing just to start throwing useless information at him. Derek does ask him if he’s legal and that’s interesting. Would’ve he chosen another victim if Stiles wasn’t of age yet? He thinks that by the time their ‘date’ is over Lydia will definitely have theories about that. 

Stiles was instructed to not shut up until they got to a stop and this wasn’t a hard task at all. He couldn’t really tell if Derek was mad or discomforted by all the babbling but he wasn’t supposed to show emotions, not until he got to killing the guys, so it probably wasn’t that bad. Stiles stops when his chatter becomes real personal, mentioning Scott and Allison’s baby was all kinds of wrong and he would hit himself on the head if it didn’t make him look crazy. Crazier.

They stop at a café in the park and Stiles picks a table outside that wouldn’t be obscured from the view of the car Jackson was in right now. Yeah, Jackson’s there in case Derek remembered Boyd or Lydia from the club. But he’s forwarding all the information to HQ where Stiles’ team is. The both of them order and Stiles flails a bit like he totally forgot Derek was supposed to talk too. It takes a bit more persuading on Stiles’ part for Derek to start talking, and every new word makes him look pained and tortured. Stiles really doesn’t want to lose him because he didn’t want to talk so he talks all through their meal, mouth full. Stiles tries to ask Derek what his last name is, subtly going for “So what gallery do I have to go to to see your works?” but Derek says he’s not sure and he’ll have to check later. Who even doesn’t know such stuff about their own work? Stiles doesn’t really believe him but he can’t call him out on a lie.

When Stiles tries to pay for himself Derek makes him put away his wallet and pays for both of them pointing out that he’s pretty capable of that, thank you. Well, ok, Derek was a douche, patronizing poor strippers who didn’t have enough money to pay for themselves. Jerk. Stiles thinks back and no, Derek isn’t just a patronizing jerk, he is a killer who makes the poor guys believe he likes them and then kills them. Stiles shouldn’t forget that.

Lydia insists on using emojicons in the next text because they’d annoy any grown up responsible adult. At Stiles’ pout she pats him on the head.

“You can keep sending them to me, Stiles, I like it when you do.” Stiles doesn’t stop pouting and after sending Derek their text he sends Lydia one:

**(◞‸◟；)**

His phone buzzes with a reply:

**(づ￣ ³￣)づ**

Stiles gives Lydia a tight hug that she returns and then there’s another text, Derek this time. After using another emojicon to answer they start planning what place they’ll go to with Derek the day after tomorrow.

They want him to hurry up and because the murders were executed at some other place than the crime scenes, the biggest probability was his home. So they used places where he’d get bored or agitated quickly and ask Stiles to go home with him. So far Derek seemed to be a gentleman and wanted his victim to have a level of trust with him before taking them to get slaughtered, not hurrying to invite Stiles over.

Stiles got a full name: Derek Hale, he really was an artist. And he created pretty amazing stuff. And this didn’t make him any less a psycho-killer, Stiles had to remind himself all the time. The worst part of the dates was that Stiles didn’t have a proper date in ages, work taking up all of his time, so he kind of… enjoyed them. And Derek was very attractive and sweet, his grumpiness hiding a softer side. Stiles would never tell _anyone_ that he even had these thoughts, it was bad enough he had them, no need for judgement. And it was just a second date for crying out loud, he knew nothing of the man and was making up his thoughts for him, when he knew for a fact what Derek was. He was a monster and Stiles should _not_ be thinking of him and his perfect figure and perfect everything and, god, his eyes, Stiles could swear they were magical… well, yeah, Stiles shouldn’t be having those thoughts exactly. After a second not-date too. He didn’t really believe in love at first sight, and even if he did it would be a rather disappointing phenomenon to exist if Stiles was doomed to fall for a serial killer. Not that he was saying he did.

“…Stiles?!” the man jerks from his thoughts to see Lydia’s irritated glare.

“Sorry, I just… was thinking…”

“Yes?” she’s using her false-sweet voice because she knows when he’s lying and that he wasn’t thinking about the case, not exactly about it. It’s a good thing Stiles’ mouth works before his brain catches up.

“He didn’t ask me to go home with him yet, I’m thinking Boyd should take a look at him with me and tell what he thinks.”

Boyd frowns and Lydia taps the pencil she’s holding against her lips.

“You’re right.” She says in the end. “And there should be lap dances.”

Stiles is startled into falling over.

***

This is risky, they mess up with Derek’s plans by changing the location and that might make him mad and either provoke him to move faster or to drop this target and choose an easier more compliant one. And then there’s Boyd, an audience that might get Derek act unpredictably, who would be “cleaning up and restocking” while Stiles lap-danced. Lydia makes him do it shirtless, quote “because your stripping is ridiculous, maybe he thinks he’s putting you out of your twitchy misery by killing you.” There are also shorts that Stiles had Boyd help him getting into.

Stiles almost screws up, giving out Boyd’s real name too but he blurts “Barry” in time and even if Boyd won’t comment on it and won’t tattle to Lydia, Stiles knows he’s judging him so hard right now.

Travie McCoy finishes up singing about how he’s tired of laying low and needs ‘you’ to understand and as Stiles starts with this ridiculous lap dance another song starts playing and Stiles really hopes, deep inside, even if it’ll mess up with the investigation, that Derek isn’t the very bad guy to Stiles’ very good girl, in Lana’s words.

Stiles is bad at it, he knows, he gets yelled about it by his dance instructor every time they meet, but Derek doesn’t really seem to mind, looking dazed as Stiles works his hips and moves closer, putting his hands on Stiles’ hips and making him slow down. The moment he realizes what he’s doing, his hands are off, but Stiles needs him to touch him, and not only because of the investigation, so he reaches out and traps his wrists, pulling Derek back, shuddering at the feeling and letting himself to touch too, bracing his hands on Derek’s shoulders, straddling him without stopping the full-body thrusts, Derek’s hands caressing his back. Stiles just needs… just a little bit more, a bit and he’ll stop. Just a bit closer…

There’s a cough from the direction of the bar and Stiles leaps in the air. He totally forgot about Boyd even being there. Fuck, he should control himself better. The denim shorts are very constricting but at least he’s too uncomfortable to get fully hard. Stiles curses at himself internally.

“Well I guess the dance is a success then.” It was a disaster! Everything was, god he screwed up so-

“It is.” Or not. Stiles smiles and the next thing coming out of Derek’s mouth is the best and the worst thing ever: “After a dance like that the only thing I could do is take you home. Where we wouldn’t get interrupted.”

It’s said quietly, only for Stiles’ ears, and this… this means they have him. This is their killer. That’s when Stiles really screws up. He’s too devastated because his not even real not even boyfriend apparently _is_ the one killing the strippers, and he tells Boyd they’re leaving. And of course it’s not what Derek needs, he doesn’t want anyone knowing Stiles went somewhere with him before disappearing. He says “maybe next time” and Stiles sees him to the door, Boyd waiting for him inside, arms crossed.

“Yeah, I know…”

“No, you don’t.” Stiles looks up, shocked. “He is not a good guy, Stiles. I don’t know how you even managed to fall for him,” Stiles opens his mouth to protest but closes it under Boyd’s calm knowing look. “But he doesn’t feel that way about you, or anyone. He sees you as another slut that should be put down.”

And wow, does it hurt when it’s put like that. But it makes Stiles’ head clear. Boyd was right and Stiles always knew that that was the deal, he just got carried away a bit.

“I know. Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. It worked.” When Stiles returns, wearing clothes designed for actual human beings, Boyd is behind the bar, two opened beers standing in front of him and Stiles swears Boyd is the best person ever.

***

Derek disappears again, no texts, no calls, no visits. Stiles kind of wishes he’d actually decided Stiles wasn’t worth the effort and was just another jerk who didn’t want to date a sex worker. But then Derek’s there, Lydia texts him to take the stage, and Stiles can’t smile, he can’t do it. He’s supposed to perform, be at his top game and all he wants is to lay on his couch and call Scott so he could mope and eat unhealthy food until he molded in with the sofa. Derek smiles at him though, an actual smile, and Stiles wants to puke, but he’s smiling back instead, falling into habit. He smiles at people and dances just as horrible as usual, still getting money for it, and he even looks at Derek from time to time, because he has to keep up the act, and Derek fucking beams back at him. Why was everything so unfair?

There’s a text from Derek and Stiles doesn’t want to read it, Lydia reads it out for him though. Boyd is there too and the other strippers might have started figuring out that Stiles wasn’t there to steal their money by now. Stiles has an almost empty bag, Lydia makes him put on a cap and a big hoodie, one of Stiles’ actual hoodies, so he could hide the gun and a tracking device, just in case Derek throws away his phone and things and somehow will get ahead of the police cars. She tells him to say that the whole deformed hoodie deal is so people wouldn’t recognize him and follow him out and promises that they’ll follow not far behind and won’t loose them. Lydia gives him a kiss on the cheek and Boyd pats his back and Stiles is off, rushing into the killer’s hands.

Stiles feels sick and can’t even talk half as fast or animated as he usually does. He’s afraid it’ll throw Derek off but he probably is already set on his goal and doesn’t seem to notice or care.

Stiles doesn’t intend to get drugged so he excuses himself and rushes to the basement, the most possible place for the dismemberment. Even if the house was so far out that it wouldn’t matter if Derek dismembered people on his front lawn, nobody would even notice. Stiles has to stop half-way there, though, something catching his eye. And damn, if it wasn’t sending shivers down his back, not the good kind too, he’d be awed. There’s a huge painting of him right against the wall. Of Stiles. And he doesn’t look awkward and uncomfortable, he looks so natural, dancing in the dim lights of the club.

“Did he paint his other victims too before killing them?” Says a little voice in his head and Stiles is back to searching for the basement. There’s no basement, it seems, or it’s hidden somehow, and Stiles doesn’t have a lot of time before Derek starts wondering where he’s gone to, so Stiles slips out and goes for the garage. Derek parked the camaro outside so there must’ve been something he didn’t want him seeing inside.

The garage is weirdly normal, filled with boxes on top of boxes, enormous wooden carvings and old canvas stacked in groups, there are no signs of anyone being killed there… until Stiles sees a rag, peaking from between a bookcase and the wall. Stiles doesn’t even know what he’s waiting to see but he realizes he hoped, till the last possible moment, that they all were wrong. The cloth is bloody through and through. Stiles sends a text that he’s moving in and rushes back to the house, shrugging off the coat on the way, reloading his gun.

Derek is bent over the open fridge, one bottle in each hand. Stiles walks up slowly, silently, and points the muzzle of his gun to the back of Derek’s head. The man freezes and Stiles stats reciting his rights when he realizes that Derek is… faking a panic attack? His hands tremble and he lets go of the bottles, the wine and beer crashing against the tiles, spilling and sending glass shards everywhere. Derek doesn’t seem to notice though, his eyes wild and panicked, breath coming in sharp gasps that don’t carry enough air. Stiles struggles for a moment before pulling Derek’s hands behind his back and handcuffing him, only leading him away after that.

The panic attack seems to be real and Stiles’ presence doesn’t help it subsiding so when he opens the door for the special agents, he asks Lydia to help Derek.

Stiles tells them about the rug and that he didn’t touch it and they take it with them in a plastic bag so the blood could be confirmed as one of the victim’s. Stiles isn’t there when they drive a shivering Derek away, but he stays a bit longer in the house, excused for the rest of the day, even if there’re just a few hours until the day ends anyway. Stiles switches off the oven and closes the open fridge. He sweeps up the mess of glass and wine on the floor. He walks back to the room with the painting and stares at it for a while, not understanding how a person who could create such beauty could be such a… monster.

Stiles does call Scott that night. He doesn’t tell him anything about the case but Scott doesn’t make him, proposing they rewatch an old Batman movie together and Stiles rushes to switch on his laptop so he can skype with Scott and watch the movie at the same time. Scott tells him they also should get ice cream and who is Stiles to resist such an offer. Stiles ends up muttering “I think I fell for a serial killer,” and Scott doesn’t say anything. And Stiles knows it’s not because he hasn’t heard him say this but he’s happy Scott decided not to answer this.

Stiles is awoken by Lydia’s ringtone, feeling like he maybe slept for a minute. When he looks at the watch on his hand, he’s not so far from the truth. It can’t be good.

“What?” he’ll say sorry for not saying hi first after he’s sure everything is alright.

“Well, there’s good news and bad news.” Lydia drawls out and Stiles’ brain, still not fully disconnected from dreaming, can’t even think of what it could be, so he just asks.

“The good news are the bad news, just so you know.”

This sounds worse and worse by the second.

“What is it?”

“Your not-boyfriend isn’t the killer.”

***

Stiles isn’t even sure what he’s feeling right now but the strongest of all he feels guilt. Guilt at accusing an innocent man of such horrible crimes, letting his own perception to get in the way. Whenever he feels a jolt of happiness because Derek isn’t really a killer and actually maybe liked him, he forces it down because what did he do with a person who was so kind and nice to him? He put him in jail and made him go through a horrible panic attack. Hell knows what even happened at the police-station, for how long was he in the interrogation room till the forensics cleared the blood on the cloth as animal blood, leaving them without the most solid evidence. And it became obvious after a while that Derek’s panic and horror at the photos of the mutilated bodies wasn’t fake.

When Stiles arrives, he’s met by Lydia who drags him away into a secluded corner. She measures him with a look, obviously pleased at his formal attire, suit and tie, all business. But then her expression changes into a sour one and she’s sighing heavily.

“First of all - this isn’t your fault alone.” She makes Stiles nod and then continues: “We all believed it was him and the evidence was there. But after what the guy went through in the past we’re probably looking at a lawsuit. And we’re going down.”

“In the past?” Lydia’s glare is particularly scary this time.

“I knew you weren’t listening! Stiles!”

“You’ll tell me off later, what’s wrong with his past?”

Lydia sighs heavily.

“When we knew his last name it was easy to track him back to-”

The doors burst open and a blonde woman in a short skirt, a very revealing top and on high heels, marches inside. A security guard is there in an instant, trying to stop her but she twists away from his grasp, throwing him on the ground the next time he grabs her by the arm.

“Where the fuck is Derek?!”

Lydia is looking way too impressed by the young woman and mutters to Stiles ‘his emergency contact,’ as she struts to the blonde.

“Erica Reyes?” Erica eyes her suspiciously but nods. “Please, follow me.”

“My assistant will be here soon, I hope he won’t get held up like I did.”

“I’ll meet him.” Erica snaps her eyes to Stiles and squints at him. The man feels like she’s calculating all the ways she could kill him in five minutes and he has a feeling that there are a lot. She’s pretty much as scary as Lydia.

Erica must’ve decided to delay his inevitable death because she just nods and follows Lydia inside. Her assistant, a curly-haired guy with huge blue eyes, taller than Stiles, does come around soon. He’s like the absolute opposite of his boss, polite and quiet and keeps apologizing.

They find the office in which Derek was supposed to be because of the screeching. Isaac, that’s the assistant’s name, ducks his head like it’s the usual and Stiles follows his example, walking in with his head hung low.

“You!” alright, by now Derek’s emergency contact already knows the biggest part. Stiles wants to close the door and stay on the other side from her but he walks in as she makes it to him in three big steps. “You are going to pay, pretty-boy! I’ll see you fired and make sure you’re sweeping the streets for the rest of your life!”

“Erica, don’t.” the voice saying it is weak and raspy and Stiles instantly whips his head towards the sound. It’s Derek, looking like death itself, the orange comfort blanket he’s snuggled in looking ridiculous. He has a mug with something that looks like tea or coffee in his hands but it’s full. Derek’s looking down at the mug, not lifting his eyes and Erica huffs a breath of frustration, turning back to Stiles.

“Isaac, call my lawyer and wait here. Make sure to get all the necessary information and write down all the violations so we can _destroy_ them.” It’s said quietly and without breaking eye contact and then she’s turning around and walking back to Derek. “Come on, Der, we’re getting out of here.”

The man doesn’t protest when she pries the mug out of his hands, nor when she makes him stand up and then leads him away, hugging him and stroking his back. Erica leaves with a glare in Stiles’ direction and Derek never lifts his head, not even for a glance. Stiles screwed up big time. On all fronts.

Isaac declines coffee and tells them not to waste their breath on him and wait for the lawyer to tell the story again, writing something down the whole time. Stiles feels like he was wrong about him being scared and clueless. The boy might be quiet but he’s probably as scary as Erica if she hired him to be her assistant.

While they wait for the lawyer Stiles gets a brief talk down the main points they’re getting into trouble over and they don’t have a clue about the real killer again. Never did.

The lawyer is a calm Zen guy going by the name of Alan Deaton and he’s all smiles and calm powerful energy when he lists the violations of the law Stiles’ team committed and tells them that they’ll probably won’t survive this with a smile on his face. Isaac hands Stiles Erica’s business card and tells him to contact her only if he wants his balls served to him on a plate. Then the innocent smile is back and he’s ducking out of the room, following Deaton.

“This is so not what we need right now.” Sighs Boyd and there’s nothing to add to it.

***

They’re suspended from the job without having any say in it, even if all of them think that they should at least maintain the undercover jobs at the club. But the whole agency is at risk because of them screwing up like that so they really have no right to ask for anything.

The lawsuit doesn’t come for a day, then two, Stiles, Lydia and Boyd (and Jackson because he’s like Lydia’s appendix) spending almost all this time crashing at one or the other’s place, trying very hard to pretend that everything is alright and that Stiles isn’t moping the loss of his not-boyfriend. Stiles can’t even come up with witty comebacks half the time to Jackson mocking him, that’s how bad it is.

Stiles gets a call from Tess (Tosterone), his favorite drag queen who even saved him one time from one of the stripper guys when he tried to attack Stiles for stealing his favorite client. Not that Stiles couldn’t have done that himself but it was nice to know that not everyone there hated him. Stiles and Jimmy, the stripper who tried hitting him, kind of bonded after this but Jimmy started getting dirty looks for hanging with Stiles so it left Stiles to the drag queens. He so was not complaining, they were fabulous. So hearing her voice made him smile even if it wasn’t the time for smiling.

“Hi! How’re you? How’s the club? Do you miss me?”

“Stiles, shh!” and wow, she always was happy to hear Stiles chatter so he’s thrown back by her tone. “So me and the girls figured you were an undercover cop, we’re right, right?”

Stiles chokes on air and excuses himself from the room to stand on the balcony. He closes the door behind him and leans against the railing.

“Does anybody else know?”

“Oh thank god!”

“Tess, you can’t tell anyone!”

“I love a good rumor but that’s not as good and juicy as you think. Listen, is it about the serial killer?” Stiles freezes completely and nods before he remembers that Tess can’t see him.

“Yes. Yes, what-”

“Well I think Jimmy just left with him.”

After this everything is a blur. Stiles is back in the room, Tess still on the phone with him, telling him she might be wrong but that they had a few drinks together and then the guy practically carried Jimmy out and drove off, Jimmy wasn’t a lightweight so this was as suspicious as it sounded. Boyd was driving them, following Stiles’ instruction while Lydia called Jackson to tell him to inform the main office in twenty minutes that there was an emergency and that they’re onto it. The twenty minutes would give them time to catch up with Tess, who was following the car “like a bond girl,” and would make every attempts to forward it to someone else pointless.

They catch up to Tess on the road out of town and Stiles tells her that he owes her one to which she tells him to hook her up with a sexy police officer. Stiles disconnects the call and Boyd replaces her on the road, following the gray audi. Even if it’s not their guy and just an ordinary rapist, it’s a good thing Tess called them.

The road is deserted and they have to be very stealthy about following the guy but he doesn’t go far. He makes a turn to an abandoned building and Boyd parks the car a bit further away, the three of them getting their guns out, they weren’t fired yet, they were just set on stand-by meaning they still had the right to use firearms.

They all use different exits to enter the house and follow the muffled sounds until they’re looking at a dimly lit room with a table in the middle, Jimmy, gaining consciousness, tied to the table and a guy in a black jacket standing over him and choosing between two knifes. Jimmy already has a gashing wound across his chest and his face looks badly beaten up. Stiles exchanges looks with Lydia and Boyd and Boyd walks into the room, Stiles right behind him, Lydia running out to see to the killer not using the windows to escape, ready to fire if he tries.

Boyd’s calm voice reciting the standard words for this kind of situations startles the man and he is turning around and charging in a blink of an eye, both knives aiming for Boyd. They both shoot at the same time and the man is falling down to his knees, only able to scrape Boyd’s shoulder. The man is alive, they don’t need him dead, he’ll pay for everything he’s done. And when Stiles is walking past him as Boyd was putting handcuffs on him, Stiles can’t resist kicking him in the stomach. Boyd gives him an exasperated look but Stiles is going to write something about the man trying to escape and a bit of a toussle in the report to explain the bruise.

Jimmy is crying and wiping snot with Stiles’ hoodie that he so generously offered him, when the police arrives. This seems a little bit anticlimatic and too easy, perhaps? But anticlimatic is good, it’s the best. Especially since the lawsuit and the scolding they’ll get for acting without a clearance from the important guys.

It’s two weeks later that the big boss tells them that they can return to the job and that if there weren’t any news about Derek suing them yet then he probably won’t do it at all. There’s even a tiny party, Stiles’ stripping money sponsoring it. Stiles doesn’t go.

Lydia and Boyd are happy to return to the job and a big part of it is that they get away from Stiles moping about loosing the chance with the love of his life. He’s exaggerating, of course, or not, but Derek was… great. If everything going on between them wasn’t a pretence to kill Stiles then Derek was the most patient amazing hot guy Stiles ever went out with. And he made sure this guy wouldn’t ever look at him again.

“Get out.” Stiles is startled by Lydia snapping at him from where she’s sitting behind a desk, printing out some reports that were forwarded to them. “You heard me. Now. I can’t take it any more.”

“What are you-” Stiles jumps down from the windowsill and Lydia rolls her chair from behind the desk.

“Don’t pretend to be dumber than you are. Go talk to him. He didn’t go through with the lawsuit and he obviously fancied you. Yeah, you screwed up, but you men are simple. Buy him a beer and pizza and he’ll let you in. Go. Stop souring the mood here.”

Stiles gapes, pouts, gets ready to protest and then runs out to buy beer and pizza and drive to Derek’s. This might be the worst decision but unless Derek has another panic attack Stiles will be counting it as a win. Well, a harassment lawsuit and a restraining order might not be nice. But what are some papers in the face of love?

No, actually Stiles really should go home and not harass the dude even further. What if he gets a panic attack just from seeing his face? Or what if he does decide to sue them all? Oh crap, Stiles should definitely turn around and drive home. He can totally eat the whole pizza alone. And if he calls Scott he technically wouldn’t be drinking alone so he can’t be called an alcoholic. He should stop his car now. Now. Nooooow.

Stiles parks the jeep beside the road leading deeper into the forest and to Derek’s house and makes it all the way to the door without tripping, running away or dropping the pizza or the sixpack. It probably is a success. He should ring the doorbell and leave the food on the porch and run. Instead he rings the doorbell and just stands there, waiting. The minutes feel like hours and Stiles is sweating profusely waiting for Derek to open up.

Derek’s hair is rumpled and he has paint in it and on his face and shirt. Stiles smiles at him and then quickly schools his face into a more serious expression, because Derek’s face speaks volumes when he sees Stiles. He even backpedals a bit before downcasting his eyes and muttering:

“I’m not pressing charges. Please, leave.”

Stiles pushes the pizza box at Derek and stumbles over words instead of listening to him, he has to try.

“I- can’t ask for you to forgive me. And this- you can totally eat it all alone, I can just go, I just thought that… I apologize for everything. And… Just wanted to say that it was really hard to make myself think of you as a serial killer when all I wanted was-”

“Derek, what’s taking you so long?!” Stiles is startled by a woman’s voice and Derek seems to be surprised too. It doesn’t sound like Erica and right on queue a dark haired woman appears behind Derek and wraps her hands around his torso, leveling Stiles with a judgmental stare.

“Uh… hi. I- I was just leaving… You can have the beer with your girlfriend.” Stiles shoves the sixpack into the woman’s hands.

“Yeah, move it.” She outright glares now. Stiles doesn’t know what he expected. And of course Derek has a girlfriend, Erica must’ve hooked him up with a friend of hers, or the girl was always there, waiting for an opportunity to get Derek when he’s vulnerable and wouldn’t say no to a comforting shoulder to lean on. He turns around to leave but there’s a strong hand holding him by the wrist.

“She’s my sister. You brought the pizza you might as well stay for a bit.”

Stiles peaks at Derek’s sister and she sends a death glare his way but Derek is still holding his wrist and Stiles nods an ok.

“Derek! Seriously?!”

“Ok, maybe I should- I overstepped, I should leave.”

“Don’t. I told you you could stay. He’s staying, Laura.” And Derek pulls him inside by his wrist, his sister trying to kill Stiles with the power of her glare. Stiles is sure the only reason he was allowed inside was some kind of sibling fight that Stiles never understood.

They settle in a big room with a couch and two chairs in the middle. Derek leaves to bring a small table, leaving Stiles with his sister. Her arms are crossed over her chest and she’s standing, so Stiles doesn’t dare sit himself. The moment Derek’s back, he jumps at the opportunity.

“You know, I think I really should leave-” on which Derek practically forces him down on the couch and sits at the other end, making Laura take the chair. There’s uncomfortable silence, interrupted only by Derek opening his beer and moving around the pizza box.

“You look different.” Derek says it around a mouthful of pizza and Stiles almost smiles at how adorable he looks but stops himself.

“I, um, yeah. That’s how I usually look. When I’m not pretending to be a stripper or not made to wear a suit.” Stiles thinks that maybe he should’ve worn a suit. Because baggy jeans a shirt with an ironic print and a faded gray hoodie aren’t exactly making him look flattering. And don’t help make Derek’s sister like him.

Derek hums and makes a big gulp from his can and Stiles can’t take it any more. He grabs a can and downs half of it in one go. This can’t be happening while he’s sober.

“I don’t hear you apologizing yet.” Laura didn’t go easy on the glaring, not even a bit. Stiles starts talking but she talks over him. “You know, I’ve been here for two weeks. And Derek can’t stand me in one room with him for half an hour.”

Stiles is confused but makes a noise in acknowledgement. He chances a glance at Derek and the man is sitting with his arms crossed now too, brow furrowed as he’s looking at his sister.

“One more fun fact for you, pretty-boy.” Why do scary women keep calling him that? Stiles doesn’t get to think about it because Derek’s getting up.

“Laura, no.”

“Sit, Derek. Or go to another room. I’m telling him.”

Stiles is looking from one to another and then Derek just stalks out of the room, leaving him with his sister. To say that Stiles was feeling uncomfortable would be such an understatement.

“I didn’t see my little brother in almost ten years now. Wanna know why?” Stiles thinks that he doesn’t really want to, and wow, she’s older, he would never be able to tell; but he nods. “His first girlfriend took him hostage and tried to kill all of our family in the basement of our house.”

Stiles feels his eyes bugging out and fuck, he never did ask Lydia about that thing with Derek’s past. He regrets it now. Laura continues:

“He thought it was his fault and left us. He excluded himself from us and even I couldn’t get through to him. Then he became kind of famous, in the world of art, and at least we were happy he was able to look out for himself. And then he calls me. After all this time, and asks me to come over. And I find out that the first person he’s ever started seeing after Kate put a gun to his head!” she ends it with yelling and Stiles would yell at himself too if he could. When he thought it was bad he wasn’t even close to it.

“I am… I…” Stiles takes a deep breath and tries to get his thoughts in order. “Ok, I know I can’t say or do anything to make it up to him and, god, I didn’t know. I just… Will it make it better or worse if I say I really care for him and really really hoped he wasn’t the killer?”

“Wow! I think everything is alright now! Should I give you a kiss and invite you into the family? Since you _really really_ hoped he wasn’t the killer.”

Stiles ducks his head and sighs. There’s really nothing he can do. Maybe if Derek’s past wasn’t so messed up. Or Stiles wasn’t such an idiot. He gets up.

“Thank you for having me. I’ll leave. Do you think I should say goodbye to Derek?”

“Oh sit down!” Stiles lifts his eyes to Laura. Is she bipolar or just crazy? “You acted like a jerk but I can understand. It’s the eyebrows, isn’t it?”

Stiles plops down in his seat out of pure shock.

“And the scowl. And all the leather like he’s a villain from a shitty drama. But he’s a really sweet baby.”

“Yyyeah…” Stiles downs the rest of his can and reaches for a new one. Laura smiles for the first time that evening and grabs a can for herself.

“You can come back, Der-bear! I’m done lecturing your stripper boyfriend! But Erica should have her fun too when she comes!”

If Stiles were drinking he’d choke. More than once. It’s too early to talk about the ‘Der-bear’ and he’s afraid of touching the boyfriend part, so he asks about Erica instead.

“She’s coming over tonight?”

“Oh don’t look so scared! I’m a lot more scary than Erica. Even if she might take it out on you with a few punches, you never know with her. She’s awesome.”

Stiles thinks he’d like to run. Now, please. But then a ruffled Derek, looking adorably grumpy, is walking back to them and ok, maybe Stiles can stay longer. Derek sits back down on the couch, closer to Stiles this time and Stiles can’t help his smile.

“My past doesn’t mean anything. I don’t want your pity.”

Before Stiles can even say anything, Laura is groaning.

“He’s not pitying you! He wants in your pants!” Stiles colors instantly and flails with his mouth hanging open while Derek develops a nervous tick to his scowl. “What!? You’re telling me you came all the way here to give him a pizza and go home? The pizza’s good by the way. You should try it yourself.”

Stiles tentatively reaches for the pizza and brings it to his mouth.

“I think I’m scared of your sister.” He tries to say it quietly, so only Derek would hear but Laura looks straight at him after this and makes an especially wild expression while biting into the pizza. At least it makes Derek snort and god, Stiles didn’t even know he’d be so happy to hear this little sound.

“Everybody is scared of my sister.” Derek pauses and the next part is said louder, for show more than anything: “I think her husband married her only because he was too worried she’d kill him if he didn’t.” Stiles lets himself smile, because he’s never seen this side of Derek. So relaxed and open. It feels good.

“Oh you little- hey, Stiles, do you want to hear how he moped around all this time talking about you and moving that painting of you back and forth between his study and the garage?”

“He should’ve moved it to the bedroom.” Stiles talks before he can stop himself and sees Derek’s tension from his sister’s words evaporate and the tips of his ears coloring. Laura snorts and can’t stop laughing.

“That’s _exactly_ what I told him!” she reaches over Derek for a high five and Stiles lifts his hand so she can give him one.

“But you’ve got the real deal to take there now, don’t you, baby bro?”

The doorbell rings and Laura jumps to her feet. She even says “the execution is coming, pretty-boy!” before running off to let Erica in. Derek’s feeling all edgy and uncomfortable again so Stiles does what he does best: lets himself talk.

“I did promise you a lapdance last time.” Alright, when he was giving his mouth permission to work without consulting the brain first he didn’t think it’d come up with this. But it gets Derek’s full attention.

He’s looking straight at Stiles and they’re sitting really close, if they were any closer Stiles could be kissing Derek.

“Everything’s messed up. I’m messed up, Stiles.” Is what he says. “You… are Stiles, right? It’s your real name?”

Stiles cringes and nods.

“Yeah, I shouldn’t have but I used my real name. I mean it’s a nickname but I don’t go by my real name because it’s too… I’m shutting up.” He really wants to hear whatever Derek has to say before Erica and Laura come back. They’re already taking a while. He thinks, hopes, Laura is giving them a little time and he doesn’t want to waste it. Derek sighs and turns in his seat to fully face Stiles, knees bumping into his thighs.

“I don’t do well with relationships. Or people. I… wish Laura wasn’t right about you being the only other person I dated but it’s true. And it all started with a lie and ended up with me looking at photos of dead guys with their guts all over the place,” Stiles cringes. “But I think you can’t surprise me with anything anymore. Unless you’re a werewolf or something.”

Derek looks at him expectantly and Stiles doesn’t get it for a while but then he’s nodding vigorously. But then he understands that he shouldn’t be nodding and shakes his head with just as much enthusiasm.

“No. No more secret identities.”

“What you said about us… dating? And that all you wanted was – what?”

Stiles exhales and looks behind Derek to the door but Laura and Erica still aren’t coming so he looks back to Derek and lifts his eyebrows in question, moving in really slowly, giving Derek an out. But Derek doesn’t stop him, he lifts his hand to Stiles’ cheek but doesn’t touch it, hesitant. Stiles closes the distance between them kissing Derek for the first time after all this time, Derek’s lips soft but chapped a bit, feeling so good against his own lips as he presses closer, unable to resist, licking at Derek’s cupid bow and moaning when Derek opens up for him, letting Stiles’ tongue in. Stiles doesn’t know how it happens but at some point he’s hauled up and is straddlig Derek’s thighs, licking into his mouth, Derek answering him eagerly, biting at his lips and holding him against his rock hard body, hands wandering under Stiles’ shirt, making him shiver.

“Wow, Derek, You’re so easy.” Stiles wants to jump away at the sound of Erica’s voice, but Derek is holding him in place.

“Could you just-” Derek’s panting into the juncture of Stiles’ neck and Stiles just wants to grind against him, half-hard just from the kissing alone.

“Seriously, you want to ditch us to get laid?”

“He’s become so shallow, I don’t even remember the sweet boy he used to be.”

Derek lets out a frustrated growl and grips Stiles by the thigh and Stiles yelps as Derek gets up, lifting him in the air with him. Stiles clings with all of his limbs, hiding his face against Derek’s shoulder.

“Do you even have condoms and lube?” Oh god. If it was possible to die of embarrassment Stiles would be in heaven already. Or in hell. Probably in hell. “What would you even do without me?”

Stiles doesn’t see what’s happening but then he’s tapped on the nose and is met with Erica’s smile. She thrusts two condoms and a packet of lube in his hand.

“Just remember that I’m still not done with you.” She steps away and pats Derek on the shoulder. “You may leave now. To have teh sex. And switch on some music, we don’t want to hear it.”

“And not that emo bullshit you listened to while moping!” shouts Laura as Derek carries Stiles away.

Derek lets him go only when they’re secure in his room, away from the terrifying duo. They should never be allowed in one room with Lydia because it would be disastrous. For Stiles.

Derek locks the door and leans into it, thumping his forehead on the wood. Stiles reaches tentatively for his shoulder but decides against it and walks up to the bed instead, sitting on the corner. The moment he starts looking around, noting the barely there furniture and the paintings on the walls, the clothes scattered all over the floor and empty beer bottles practically tangled in them; Derek turns around, sighing deeply.

“I _was_ planning on ‘getting in your pants.’ Still am. Just maybe not with your sister in the next room?”

Derek’s pinched expression looks momentarily relaxed until he spots the state his room is in and it’s not like this should surprise him but he looks horrified and panicked. Stiles gets up fast and is in front of Derek, hands on his shoulders.

“You could worry about the state your room is in, and it’s not even half bad if you asked me, or you could kiss me so-” Derek chooses the second option.

They do switch on a hard metal band from Derek’s collection of CDs and migrate to the bed where they lay on their sides, knees and toes brushing, Derek’s hand stroking up and down Stiles’ upper arm, sometimes moving to his neck or to scratch at the hair at the back of his head. Stiles’ arm was loosely slung over Derek’s waist, fingers tapping and drawing patterns on his shirt as they traded kisses and talked about how they ended up with this misunderstanding and how sorry Stiles was, with Derek answering him with a ‘shut up’ and a kiss to silence him and telling him they’d never meet if it wasn’t for the investigation and Stiles accusing him of being a serial killer.

“I made lamb that night. I didn’t even ask you if you ate lamb. Or meat.”

“God, I’m sorry.” Stiles groans, hiding his face in the pillow but Derek strokes his hair and presses a kiss to his temple.

“I was asking. It wasn’t to blame you. It was me asking you to come over when my sister isn’t here and have a proper date this time.”

“Really?” Stiles shimmies closer and is now hiding his face against Derek’s chest and Derek’s arm tightens around him.

“Really.”

“I promise not to take the gun with me this time. But is it too early for handcuffs?”

Derek laughs and Stiles laughs with him but then they’re both startled by the loud bang on the door.

“I knew this was a ploy! Come out and be a man, Stilinski! Face the consequences!”

Stiles groans and Derek just chuckles softly, so Stiles hits him on the shoulder. Not strong enough to even be registered by Derek and his enormous muscles.

“I guess I deserve this…” Stiles is up, Derek standing up right after him, hugging him from the back and kissing his neck, leaving a red mark.

“I’ll sit with you through it this time around. And if you survive you get to go on that date with me.”

“Well let’s get that over with then!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All I know about law enforcement and stripping comes from movies and the internet.  
> The songs are "Need you" by Travie McCoy and "Put the Radio on" by Lana Del Ray. Included here only because I listened to them almost all the time while writing this fic.  
> Also this gif is what inspired it: http://media.tumblr.com/8dacb6c642f9dffc268af787983e1e20/tumblr_inline_mo3ba5Kg2D1qz4rgp.gif
> 
> Thank you for being amazing, the comments and the kudos! <3


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